Illusions Of Truth
by xStormyx
Summary: When Edgeworth let Franziska get on that plane, he didn't realise what he was letting go - or what it was going to cost him. Set during Trials and Tribulations.


Not typically a Franzy/Edgester shipper but was inspired by Faith Kelter and her 3DF productions so this story's for you, darling!

I don't know how long this story will be but it will span the whole of Trials and Tribulations. Also, my priority is Nightfall so updates for this will not be quite as consistent as my Klema stories. Still, once I start a story, I finish it. So have no fear.

Reviews are love. Let me know what you think.

Constructive Crit is constructive and therefore welcome.

Flames are useless. They belong at the bottom of a hole.

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><p><span>Letting Go<span>

Miles Edgeworth was not an emotional man. To the world he wore a mask of apathy that earned him the respect of many. They looked on him with awe and some degree of wariness — for a man who had endured the murder of his father at the hands of his mentor, for over a decade believing he himself was responsible for the crime, Edgeworth had done admirably well for himself. His composure, elegance and sharp but cool intellect was the essence of his personality, the qualities he was praised for. Nobody mentioned the persistence that drove him to the truth, never focused long enough on this facet of his personality to understand the compassion lingering beneath it — because they made the mistake of believing that just because Miles Edgeworth didn't show his feelings, he lacked them entirely.

It was understandable, he supposed. After all, he himself had had little opportunity to explore the arena of emotion — much of his life had been spent in orbit of success, constantly pushed by Manfred von Karma, and there had been no time (or space) for sentimental overindulgence. So now, when he found himself face to face with an unfamiliar feeling, he barely recognised the reflection of his own suppressed character. He rarely pondered too long over such instances. His job required his attention far too much for the ever-efficient prosecutor to take a moment out of his hectic life and discern the reason behind the odd pangs he felt.

This, however, was one such rare occasion. Edgeworth's form was still regal, his expression still blank as he stood in the skylink, staring out through the window. The activity of the airport was lost on him; his attention was somewhere in the distance where no other gaze could follow him. The nature of his musing was buried deep in the inscrutable pools of silver — if Phoenix Wright had been nearby, he would have probably been able to read them, understand exactly where his mind was. Even Maya Fey could have guessed the direction of his thoughts.

It wasn't so strange that Franziska had left. She had always been flighty — strong, but flighty. He knew it had to do with the burden of the von Karma name, her fear and inability to bear such a heavy burden. To be met with failure so soon after her ascension to the prosecuting throne… it wasn't strange at all that she should leave. No, what was strange was this nagging in his head: his mind kept returning to their conversation, to seemingly insignificant comments.

_"...this girl you left behind... don't think I'm going to walk in your shadow forever..."_

Why did those words keep returning to him? And why did they bring this… this unpleasant sensation in him? Since his mentor's death, Edgeworth had found a release; he was becoming reacquainted with the part of him that had been so thoroughly subdued… but this feeling was alien to him. At first, he'd found some resemblance to guilt. It was when he tried to reason it out — what he always did in order to abate the feeling — that he found himself utterly stumped. After all, how could he reason out his guilt when he had no... _reason_ to _be_ guilty. He had done nothing to Franziska.

In fact, it was almost as if he had _failed_ to do something.

It puzzled him. Why was he overcome with this disagreeable feeling? Even if he couldn't identify it, Edgeworth knew it had something to do with Franziska and her tearful, parting words. He'd never felt her absence quite so much before. Of course, there had been that relief every now and then (after all, that whip was painful to endure) but he was usually oblivious to the lack of her presence.

Why was this different?

It was odd. It eluded his prosecutor's logic. It wasn't in his ability to understand.

So he stood at the glass and stared up at the sky: somewhere out there, Franziska was on a plane back to Germany, completely unaware of the mystery she'd left behind.


End file.
